Phantom Shadows
by zephine
Summary: Six months on, Marius returns to the fallen barricade.


Disclaimer: Marius, Enjolras, Gavroche and the rest of the Les Mis boys are not mine, never have been and sadly never will be (sob) – that pleasure is all Victor Hugo's and I am making absolutely zero profit from this. This story uses bits from both the book and the musical, whichever fits my purposes at the time but doesn't adhere strictly to either (sorry).

**Phantom Shadows**

_December 1832_

The dense December mist hung over Paris, driving all but the bravest of people into their homes to escape the cold. So far it had been one of the coldest winters the city had ever known. There was one area of the city which had been emptier than usual over the past six months and, now which the freezing conditions, barely saw any life at all. On one particular street, the only passer-by all day was the lone young man, dressed in black and leaning heavily on a cane, standing outside the empty café. No trace of the battle that had taken place here six months earlier remained. The barricade had gradually been dismantled and cleared away. The roads had been repaired. The café itself had been rebuilt but was no longer the heaving tavern it had been – many of its previous patrons either dead or suffering too much grief to return. The guardsmen had removed the bodies quickly once the fighting was done. No-one knew were their final resting place had been but it had become a common superstition that their spirits still haunted the blood-stained streets; stains which had only recently faded away when the heavy winter rains had fallen steady for days on end.

But to Marius there was no mist, the blood still ran as freely and freshly across broken paving slabs as it first flown and the street in front of him was far from deserted. The barricade loomed up before him, just as real and solid as it had ever been. If an observer could have seen what Marius could see they would have been surprised at the detachment displayed on the young man's face. He saw young men still, silent and bloody sprawled awkwardly over the monstrous heap of metal and timber; young men who had been his closest friends and yet he displayed no emotion.

Slowly and stiffly, the clanking of his cane on the street cutting through the silence, Marius walked around to the other side of the barricade, the side which only the bravest fighters had advanced to. There were only two men on this side of the barricade. One of them drew attention just as immediately as he had in life. He was hanging upside down from the barricade almost perfectly framed by the large bright red flag he was lying on. Even covered in blood and gunpowder he was a magnificent site. His long blonde hair was falling away from his face; a face with had been left remarkably untouched save for a small trickle of blood running across his cheek from the corner of his mouth. In death the man, who looked barely more than a boy, retained the noble pride and determination he had fought with right until the end. His eyes were open, locked in an eternal stare. Marius' eyes locked with this stare only for the briefest of seconds but it was enough to release a flash of the turmoil in Marius' head onto his face. Marius closed his eyes and faced heavenward, willing the haunting vision of this dead man's face out of his mind. Swaying slightly, it took him a moment to steadily himself, to regain control and the blank expression reappeared across his face.

Finally, Marius willed himself to reopen his eyes only to be greeted by a site that unnerved him all the more. He was now looking up at the only other man to grace this side of the barricade. This man was nothing like the first. Whereas his companion had been dignified and boyish, this man looked slightly older and had quite clearly been a mess even before the battle had started. His hair was dark, messy and greasy, his chin unshaven and his clothes filthy with or without the bloodstains. His hand was still clutched around an unbroken absinthe bottle, seeming to need it now more than ever. Covered in bullet wounds, the man was a hideous sight but this was not what scared Marius. Just as Enjolras' stare had been haunting, Grantaire's was horrifying. His eyes too were open and he was looking downwards, his gaze fixed on Enjolras' face but expression on his face was not the usual contempt or mocking cynicism that Marius would have expected of Grantaire. It was love. Love and respect. Grantaire had died for a cause he had no care for and he had gone to that death feeling nothing but love for the man who had led him there. Although he couldn't explain it, this terrified Marius more than Enjolras' deathly conviction.

Unable to be close to these two noble men, Marius slowed backed away from the barricade, his cane falling away from him with a clatter. The backs of his legs collided with something and, without his cane to steady him, Marius fell backwards onto the street. Momentarily he was glad that something had wrenched his concentration away from the barricade but that relief was short-lived as the obstacle that he had tripped over revealed itself.

It was a small boy, lying alone in the middle of the street. His face was buried in his arms and some surrounding rubble but even without this identification Marius knew that the child was Gavroche. He still clearly remembered the brave little boy climbing over the barricade determined to fight and help anyway he could and he still remembered the grief that had loomed over the barricade following his death. Gingerly, Marius reached out and turned Gavroche over, wanting to see the child's innocent face one more time, but the sight that greeted him forced Marius to cry out in alarm and jump away as though he had been bitten. The body fell limply back to the ground. Struggling to get up, Marius rushed back to the pavement, flattening himself against the door of the café, looking up at the barricade and willing these images that taunted him to disappear. Having to fumble with the door until it finally gave way, he stumbled into the café, slamming the door behind him and slumped against it, breathing heavily and fighting back tears.

The café was empty apart from the owner sitting on a stool behind the bar at the side of the room. The interior had been redecorated but not even the fresh new paint could make this empty place look cheerful. He glanced up at Marius ready to greet his first customer of the day but his joy at a paying customer was short-lived as he recognised the young man. Immediately, he reached for a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass before searching behind the counter for the key he knew this man would want. Calmer now, Marius walked shakily towards the bar, reaching to his pocket for money to pay for the drink but the barman shook his head. He didn't expect payment from this customer, not when it was obvious by his face why he was here. Marius smiled in gratitude and took the glass of whiskey, downing it in one. He needed the courage it gave him to go where he was about to. Without needing to ask, Marius found that the barman was holding out the key ready for him. With a trembling hand, Marius took it and walked through the empty chairs and tables towards a door on the other side of the room. Not a word had passed between him and the man at the bar to break the silence that weighed down on Marius.

The door to the back room opened easily despite having been locked for months. Entering the room, Marius closed the door behind him and sank down into the nearest chair. During the six months that had passed since he's last been here, the room hadn't changed at all. Miraculously untouched during the fighting, the café owner had locked the room allowing no one in it since as a mark of respect for the dead. Dust, collected over the six months and disturbed by nobody until Marius, flew around the room giving it a musty smell but otherwise it was the same as ever. Enjolras' map was still pinned to the wall, a pile of bottles lurked under what had been Grantaire's table. A strange coloured scarf that could only have been Jehan's lay on one of the tables hiding a pile of papers which appeared to somebody's homework. Probably Combeferre's, Marius mused, only he would be worrying about work in the middle of a war. A thin smile crossed Marius lips as he remembered the evenings they'd all spent here, laughing and joking. He could still picture them so well. As he remembered each and every one of them came to life around him, just as real to Marius as they had been then.

There in the corner was Courfeyrac laughing with disbelief at the discovery that his latest conquest, some poor grisette from the local area, had left him for another man. Left _him_! He was making a big show of how wounded he was but it was obvious she'd be forgotten before the night was out. With him at the table were Jehan and Bahorel, Jehan writing Courfeyrac's woes into a poem that would win the girl back and Bahorel offering to 'sort out' the competition if Courfeyrac so wished. At a table on the other side of Marius, Joly and Bossuet were battling good-humouredly, trying to outdo each other in suffering; Bossuet arguing his latest real-life misfortunes and Joly, the latest of his imaginary illnesses backing up his points with frequent observations of his tongue. In the far corner, Feuilly and Grantaire were joking around but it was obvious, painfully so to Marius, that Grantaire's attention was almost completely focussed on another man in that small room. At the table in the centre of the room Combeferre was busy scribbling away at a sheet or paper making notes, probably studying or writing a new rousing speech or campaign leaflet. Leaning over his shoulder reading was Enjolras. Even still and silent, Enjolras was the focal point of the room. Everyone, not just Grantaire, had at least half an eye on him. The smallest gesture from Enjolras and the meeting would be underway.

The scene before Marius changed as time moved forward. As he watched, the meetings grew more and more serious, the carefree, lively discussions of their early days gradually giving way to serious speeches and heated debates. Gavroche, no longer the corpse from the street, burst into the room to announce the death of Lamarque. In less than a second Enjolras had launched into that fateful rallying speech, the speech that told them the time of the battle had come, the speech that told them the new world was theirs to be won. Enjolras spoke with such passion and conviction. He always did, Marius reflected. Enjolras had presence, charm and a way with words that could convince anyone to do anything. It wasn't surprising they'd all followed him willingly to their deaths. He looked around the room at the excited faces, each one already glowing with the victory they were certain would soon belong to them. Marius could even see himself in that room looking as though he was just as full of hope and anticipation as the rest of them but Marius remembered being at that meeting. He remembered that his mind hadn't been completely there, not with his friends. Even at the most crucial moment his thoughts had been far away with Cosette and he hadn't really listened to what Enjolras' words. Had he ever listened? When he'd first joined them he'd been just as devoted as the rest of them but then Cosette entered his life and everything else in the word seemed to fade away. He hadn't paid any more attention to the cause that had previously been so important. When it came down to it, he'd been there because his friends were there. He wasn't prepared for what they were getting themselves into but then, he added bitterly, there wasn't one among them who was.

Once more, the events of those fateful days played out in front of him. He watched and followed as they ran out into the streets singing and gaining support. Back then every man who had joined with them had seemed like a million. Now, watching the scene with the bitter detachment of hindsight, he could see that for every person who promised to fight with them there were at least twenty who passed them by, heads down, not wanting to get involved and muttering what stupid children they were. They couldn't bring about change; what point was there in dying for a lost cause? The barricade went up and Marius found himself reliving every single painful moment. He saw Eponine dying in his arms again, the same look in her eyes that the dead Grantaire had used for Enjolras. He saw the spy and how willingly that old man who had joined them had killed him. The old man who had seemed to familiar but, even now, walking like a ghost around the active barricade, he couldn't get a clear view of him. He saw Gavroche fall, singing as joyfully as he ever had right up until the end, possibly the bravest among them. Marius watched as the day turned into night and they spent their final hours together. He saw the darkening of spirits that died out with the light as they became painfully aware that they were alone and the end was upon them. He watched himself, sitting a little apart from the rest of them, thinking silently of Cosette, more concerned about her than Gavroche, Eponine or any of the friends who surrounded him. He was ashamed to admit, now, that the cause they had been fighting for had never once crossed his mind. He knew, deep down he'd known it then, that he had only been there because Cosette had left his life; gone away to another country leaving behind a hole in his heart.

"You shouldn't have been there! You had no right," he shouted at the vision of himself. "You were a disgrace to everyone here." He was bitter and angry with the young man in front of him who curled up and slept whilst his friends prepared for tomorrow's final fight. The dawn broke and the final battle began. One-by-one, he saw each of his friends fall midst a lively hell of bullets, soldiers and blood. The battle was over quickly and that ghostly, silent barricade once more confronted Marius. He had tried to keep track of where he himself was but the vision of his former self disappeared in the confusion of the conflict. He wasn't on the silent barricade, not that he had any right to be there. This was a place for those who had bravely risked and sacrificed their lives for something they truly believed in, not for a lucky fool who had cheated the death he deserved more than anyone there. They were noble, brave men fighting for their beliefs. He had just been a lovesick little boy caught up in a grown men's world he had no right to be a part of.

"You should be alive!" he yelled at the lifeless bodies, in angry, impotent rage, knowing that they'd died for nothing. No new free republic had been brought forth; the world was not a better place. It was worse. The few people who were willing to stand up for the poor, the needy and the helpless were gone. Who was going to fight now? They'd failed, wasted their chances and the world was a darker place for those who remained. "It was a mistake… you shouldn't have… it was too soon… it was no good…" he continued but the words were sticking in his throat, trapped by the racking sobs he was trying desperately to hold back.

"Marius…" a soft, ethereal but familiar voice floated on the wind behind him. He turned quickly but found no one there. "Marius…" it called again, this time seeming to come from deep inside the café. He stumbled back into the building and found himself back inside the back room.

This time the room was filled with ghostly visions of everyone he had just witnessed die. His friends, the workmen who had joined them, women, children, they were all there. They were all silent, motionless and every single one of them with their back to him. Terrified, Marius fell backwards against the door causing it to slam shut.

One after the other they slowly turned to face him. Some of them looked at him sadly, some angrily, some accusingly but each one of them staring. One-by-one they kept turning and staring, each new pair of eyes boring into Marius, forcing him backwards until he was trapped, cowering, in the corner of the room. He looked at each of them in turn, terrified of what they wanted with him. Was this his punishment for surviving? He desperately wanted to plead forgiveness with them but the words deserted him. He could do nothing but stare mutely at these ghosts who tormented him just by being there.

Only three remained turned away from him. He recognised them as Gavroche, Grantaire and Enjolras.

Gavroche was the first to face Marius. He looked exactly as he had when he died, half is face blown away by the bullet that had killed him. Letting out a cry of anguish, Marius slid down the wall, falling to the floor and vomiting, unable to look back at the child. Marius knew that he could've saved the boy from this fate if only he'd tried harder to make him leave. If only… The tears he had been fighting flew freely now, unable to hold back any longer. His despair was greeted by laughter. Cruel, cynical, mocking laughter. Trembling, Marius glanced up. Grantaire was watching him, observing Marius' with apparent enjoyment, his laughter only broken when he stopped to take swigs from the bottle he still carried in his hand. Unable to take it Marius curled up, burying his head in his hands trying to block out the laughter that mocked him and the faces that blamed and taunted him.

"Forgive me. Please, please forgive me," he wailed, his tears spilling onto the floor. "I know, I should be dead, I should be with you. I know it. I don't know… I don't know why I'm here… It doesn't…"

"Marius." It was the same voice as he'd heard outside but stronger and clearer. It was a voice that commanded attention. Enjolras was standing over Marius, looking down at the weeping man with an expression of understanding. He reached down and took Marius' hand. Marius was pulled to his feet so that he was face to face with the ghost before him. He was different to the other ghosts; they were all otherworldly with a translucent quality but Enjolras seemed real, solid. Marius was sure he could feel the firm grip of Enjolras' hand in his own.

"Marius," Enjolras repeated. "We don't have long. You have to listen to me. For once, really listen." Enjolras' voice was calm and steady. Random sobs escaped Marius as Enjolras spoke but he listened, desperate to know how he could make amends. "Only you can help us now. You're alive so that we won't be forgotten. We need you, Marius. We need you to remind the world of what we fought for; what _you_ fought for. You have to continue our fight, Marius. Make your life what ours should have been!" The other ghosts mumbled agreement with Enjolras, their voices distant. They were growing fainter, only barely visible in the dimly lit room. Marius didn't notice. His attention was completely with Enjolras

"I can't," he said, his eyes pleading with Enjolras. " I can't be like you. I can't fight your fight. Not knowing that it was pointless, all of it. We didn't change anything and I never could. If you didn't succeed, how can I? You died for nothing. You wasted your lives!"

Enjolras' face hardened and his hand fell from Marius'.

"I don't know how to make your deaths worthwhile! It's not possible! It's futile!" Marius continued. He tried to grab Enjolras but his hands passed straight through thin air. The other ghosts had faded away and Enjolras was rapidly joining them.

"Our deaths are only worthless if that's what you make of them."

"But what can I do? You don't understand! You don't; I don't! What did you die for? What did I live for? Why? You couldn't change anything. I can't change anything. No one can. You must see that!" Marius cried in anguish at Enjolras but there was no answer. Enjolras had faded away forever.

Marius sank down onto the floor. "Why am I still here?" he whispered meekly to the empty room.

"Marius?"

A gentle hand rested on Marius' shoulder. He turned to see its owner and found himself looking up at the answer to his own question.

"Cosette."


End file.
